Bat Out of Hell
by Explorer08
Summary: After Jason learns that Tim has been kidnapped, he rushes to the younger man's aid. When it is revealed that the Joker has used Red Robin as bait, will Red Hood finally put an end to the mad man? Or will he lose one of the most nerve wracking fights of his life? RATED T


********B********

 **So to be honest I'm not completely happy with this story. I've gone over it multiple times, but something is off. I hope you all enjoy it though!**

 **PS: I edited out some of the cussing. I realized that it was a bit much, especially after the lovely Ki-Chan Ricker (** **u/3662689/Ki-Chan-Riker** **) mentioned it.**

 **I do not own anything but the story idea. All characters associated with Batman are owned by DC.**

 ********B********

Echoes of thunder rumble through the streets, signaling the arrival of yet another storm to Gotham. _Yay, more rain._ My boots land heavily as I race across Crime Alley, leaping from roof to roof. It's only ten o'clock –still early for those of us in masks– but the criminals decided to kick things off a bit prematurely tonight.

 _Could've been having a beer right now –but no, I'm stuck chasing hired monkeys instead. Stupid asshats._

I've already stopped two muggings, a group of Black Mask's drug running idiots, and a jewelry store break-in. Sweat is starting to trickle down my back from my excursion. Kevlar body suits aren't exactly known for their breathability in humid summer storms. As I hit the roof of an abandoned apartment complex, an annoying beep sounds in my ear. I pause, reaching up to press the com-link on my helmet and accept the call.

"What's up Little Red?"

Red Robin is silent, the muffled sounds of the docks echoing in my ears. I immediately go on alert. If he's calling me, Red Robin is always quick to the point –not voiceless.

"Little Red, what have you got?" I ask, listening closely. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I hear a rough, unfamiliar voice over the com-link.

"The bat brat is a bit preoccupied at the moment. If you want to see him alive again come to the docks. Pier 47." The com-link shuts off before I can reply.

 _DAMMIT!_

I immediately take off at a sprint towards the docks –the exact opposite direction of my previous course. My pulse is frantic as I shoot off a line, the end shooting through the concrete wall of yet another empty building. I vault from the roof, swinging on the line and allowing my momentum to carry me up to the next roof.

Despite my shaking hands, I manage to reach up and press my com-link again. I don't even wait for a greeting as I hear the line open up.

"Nightwing, someone has Red Robin. I'm headed to the docks –Pier 47." My voice is breathy as I run, and I hope he can understand me. I don't have time to stop.

"Hood? How did this happen?" Nightwing's voice is far calmer than my own, but I hear the rev of his bike reverberate over the com-link as he quickly takes off. "How did you find out?" he asks this time.

"His com-link was used by some jackass with a bad smoking habit. I'm at least eight minutes out. What's your ETA?"

"Ten minutes," he replies. "I was just finishing up on 56th street near the clubs. Have you called Batman and Robin? They might be closer."

"No, Batman and Robin were working a case on the other side of town. Sounded like Scarecrow was attempting to steal some experimental meds from Wayne Enterprises R and D, so they'll be busy for a while." I hear Nightwing sigh in frustration.

We're each thinking the same thing as we rush towards the docks: _We have to get to Red Robin._

"Okay, just get there as soon as you can," he says finally.

***B***

A warm drizzle has started falling by the time my feet touch down on the metal roof of the Pier 48 warehouse. My helmet helps keep the water out of my eyes as I look at the warehouse next door –the pier 47 warehouse. The air is filled with the sound of the ocean crashing against the docks and the smell of salt mixing with summer rain. In any other situation, some might consider it relaxing. Tonight, however, it only puts me on edge.

"Nightwing," I murmur into my com-link, "I have eyes on the warehouse at 47. I'm moving in." I hear his bike in the distance and know he's going to protest –but I also know that Red Robin's captors might not have the patience to spare for the extra four minutes it would take Nightwing to join me on the roof.

"Hood, no! I called Batman and Robin, but they're still fifteen minutes out. Just wait for me to get there!" His voice immediately takes on an all too familiar tone.

"Wing, drop the bat-growl and chill. I've done this before, and I can already hear your bike. Just back me up when you get here." I ignore his sound of objection and close the channel. I've learned the hard way just how much of a difference a few minutes can make. Waiting for backup may very well be the decision that condemns Red Robin to death.

Kneeling, I reach up and change the lenses on my helmet to infrared, hoping to get a count on the hired muscle that is probably guarding Red Robin.

Sure enough, several goons are mulling around the large warehouse. I know it's a set up, and at this point in my life I suppose I should be a bit more hesitant about this kind of situation. Frankly though, I don't give a damn. I've been dead once. Life isn't so special the second time around.

 _Not my life at least._

Shaking away my thoughts, I leap the thirty feet from the roof and allow my body to roll with the impact to avoid breaking any bones. A shiver runs down my spine as lightning flashes and thunder rolls. It always seems to storm in Gotham when all hell is about to break loose.

Water and sweat drench my back, and the asphalt bellow steams under the rain –which has suddenly turned into an outright downpour. The sounds of the summer storm mute the thumping of my combat boots as I move through the shadows towards a back entrance to the Pier 47 warehouse. I slip through the door, mindful of any rusting metal that might alert the hired muscle to my presence. Unfortunately, one of the idiots chooses that very moment to come around the corner.

"Looks like you really are stupid enough to come here alone," he laughs. I smirk under my helmet as he raises his gun at me.

 _Beretta._ _92 FS._ _Double/single-action semiauto pistol that employs an open-slide, short-recoil delayed locking-block system._ _10-shot group of 3 inches or less at 50 meters._

Within the span of a few seconds I've assessed the gun and reached out to grab his arm. Before he can bitch or scream for his mommy, I break his arm. A satisfying snap sounds and I slam my helmet into his head. He doesn't even have time to cry before he's falling to the ground, unconscious. I grab his gun, eyeing it appreciatively.

 _Mine now, bitch._

Muffled voices filter towards me as I make my way to the main storage area of the enormous warehouse. Kneeling behind some large crates, I take in the scene before me. Red Robin is tied to a chair, blood dripping from his nose and a split lip. I can tell he's been beaten up pretty badly as I take in his slumped posture –which is normally ramrod straight. His head is sagged forward as though he can barely stay conscious –but conscious he is. Masked eyes dart subtly, searching for a sign.

I slip a batarang out of my jacket –one of many that I've snatched from Batman and the birds when they leave them lying around. Making sure that none of the goons are looking my way, I stick the weapon out past the crate ever so slightly, catching the light on its sharpened edge. Red's eyes snap to me indiscernibly and I see him give the tinniest of nods. I smile to myself and throw the batarang.

The small weapon lodges itself in the side of the chair, severing the rope that holds Red Robin captive. One of the guards shouts, signaling the others to their escaping leverage. I waste no time in standing and running towards the melee, which is a complete free-for-all as more hired muscle rushes out of the warehouse office.

I raise the stolen Beretta and fire non-lethal shots. Sure, Batman and the birds hate it when I kill, but Red Robin nearly cries every time I do. The last time I shot to kill was about four months ago when I ran across a rapist and his two teenage victims. Needless to say, I decided to buy Little Red a box of tissues over that one instead.

The goons –six in total– are swiftly taken down. Three are bleeding from their shoulders or sides and have been knocked over the head with either my helmet or the handle of the Beretta. The others have been rendered into unconsciousness by a few exploding batarangs courtesy of Red Robin –who is looking at me with an exhausted, yet victorious smirk. Suddenly, Red Robin sways and falls to his knees. I'm kneeling beside him within seconds.

"Whoa! Hey, no fainting Little Red Robin Hood!" I tease nervously, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and trying to check him over hurriedly. His head falls to rest on my shoulder and I press two fingers to his neck, testing his pulse. His heartbeat is strong beneath my fingers, albeit a bit fast, and I look at his half lidded eyes.

"Sorry, they drugged me when they grabbed me," he mumbles. "I guess it hasn't worn off as much as I had thought."

I can't help but chuckle. "You're just lazy." He grins back up at me and shakes his head. "Hey," I say, "once a Robin, always a smartass."

"You know that fight was too easy, right?" he asks, becoming serious once again.

I nod, "Yeah, but if we can get out now let's not waste time wondering about faulty schemes. Speaking of getting out of here, Nightwing should be here by now."

Worry flashes through my mind as I press my com-link. It's silent. No static, no beep of changing channels, and no Nightwing. No backup.

 _Shit._

Just as I'm about to grab Red Robin and make a run for the door, a single noise sends chills down my spine –an all too familiar cackle ringing through the warehouse. Red Robin's eyes widen and he tries to sit up, supporting himself with an iron grip on my shoulder.

I barely notice.

My mind is flashing with terrorized images. White face. Black crowbar. Fire. Pain.

 _Joker._

"Hello Hoody! I've brought you all some party favors!"

Smoke bombs go off all around us. Chains rattle distinctly against the concrete floor and I know we've been surrounded on all sides. I hear Red Robin cough and I reach for my rebreather, placing it over his mouth while I ignore the slight burning sensation that creeps down my throat. The sound of Joker's chuckling voice makes me tremble as it seems to drift within the smoke, echoing all around us. Red Robin glances at me in concern when the smoke begins to clear and I see the understanding in his eyes. He knows there's nothing we can do now.

Joker's laugh fills the building. "Isn't this just the best? Red Hood, my old pal. I've been waiting for us to meet again, since last time was oh so much fun!"

I wince, remembering the explosion that had ripped through the apartment where I had fought Batman, trying to force him to kill this psychotic son of a bitch. He'd refused and I'd nearly destroyed us both in my desire for vengeance. Vengeance that I still crave. Shaking myself from my fear-addled mind, I grasped Red's arm.

"You're going to survive this. Just don't do anything stupid," I growl into his ear.

He gives an almost imperceptible nod.

"Ah ah ah, no making plans now boys. It's not nice to keep secrets," Joker laughs. I tighten my grip on Red Robin's arm, as though this small action would keep the Joker and his goons at bay.

"Let's show our guests a good time boys," Joker cackles. Assailants rush us from every side, but Little Red is still dazed from the drug, and I can't attack them while half supporting his weight. Within moments he's being yanked from my grasp. Rough hands shove me to the ground. Rope is tied around my wrists and ankles, while I watch my brother get tied to a chair.

I sigh, knowing that if I'm the one on the ground, he's safe for now. Polished black shoes appear before me, familiar purple pants brushing the tops. Red Robin glances between Joker and me, wide-eyed fear apparent on his features. I glance up hesitantly.

 _Oh. Hell. No._

Joker stands before me, smiling wickedly and holding a black crowbar. Nervous sweat beads on my brow as I eye the metal object.

"You know," Joker begins, "I've waited a long time for this. I was almost honored that you came all the way back from the dead to see me, but then daddy bats went and ruined it!"

Red Robin glares, muttering, "You're just pissed you were in a body cast for six months after he got ahold of you." Joker's menacing gaze whips to the younger man. His dark eyes narrow.

"You're next Bat Brat," he growls. I shake my head at Red Robin, silently asking him to shut up. Red Robin purses his lips and Joker sneers, turning his gaze back to me. "Now where were we?"

Zoning out as much as possible is all I can think about as he monologues; I know he'll be done all too soon. Within minutes, the first hit lands. I'm forced back to reality as the savage blow greets on my shoulder. I know my shoulder blade will be bruised black from the force, and brace for more.

"What do you say Hood? Which hurts worse?" I freeze, the words ringing in my ears and bringing back memories of the pain that had followed them last time I'd heard them. This time was no different.

"A," he cackles as the crow bar lands against my ribs, "or B?" The second blow lands on my back and I grunt. "Overhand…" Another hit to my ribs. "Or backhand?" A strike to my thigh.

I quickly lose track of how many hits I take. I glance hazily to where Red Robin still sits tied to a chair. Tears trickle from beneath his domino mask. He meets my gaze and I shake my head at him, pleading with him silently. _Stop looking._

His eyes clench shut and he turns his head.

Joker lands another blow, this time to my head. I can't hold back the cry of agony that accompanies the strike to my skull as the side of my helmet shatters. Red bits of hardened polymer crunch, barely protecting me from the full force of the blow, and Joker's gleeful cackles fill the air. He pauses though, smiling evilly.

"Time to move on," he chuckles darkly. "I want you to watch this." His eyes flit to Red Robin and I stiffen, ignoring the pain of my battered body.

I struggle against my bonds, panicking as he gets ever closer to Red Robin. Suddenly, I remember the batarangs I've swiped. I'd stitched one of the smallest into my waistband just a few nights ago. Working my hands against the fabric until I feel the tip of the weapon, I apply enough pressure to make it rip through the cloth –stabbing my fingers through my gloves in the process. Once it's freed, I set to work on the rope.

Just as Joker raises the crowbar to strike Red Robin, the rope breaks, and I launch myself at Joker, tackling him to the hard concrete. My fist connects solidly with his face. I roar as we roll across the ground, my fists landing blow after blow.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN THREATEN MY BROTHER!" Each word is accompanied my yet another hit. "YOU STUPID PIECE OF GARBAGE!"

Knees pressing his arms down, I wrap my hands around his neck. My breathing is erratic as I glance around for a moment, expecting his hired muscle to rush at me as I choke their boss.

Finally, I realize that Red Robin is no longer tied to the chair. My hands still locked around Joker's throat, I look back over my shoulder. Batman, Robin, and Nightwing have arrived and are with Red Robin finishing off the last of Joker's goons. Momentary relief washes through me as I realize Little Red is safe –albeit a bit wobbly– as Nightwing helps him fight. Robin is near them, quickly felling his opponents with all the grace of an assassin. When Batman takes the last idiot down, they all turn to me. Four pairs of eyes watching to see if I'll finally put an end to this madman.

"Come on," Joker goads me, his voice scratchy. "You know this is what you want."

My vision blurs slightly as I tighten my hands. Joker gags, choking even more. I can feel everyone's gaze on my back and my skin crawls a bit. Rising to me feet, I hold Joker in the air with one hand. I remove the remnants of my busted helmet and yank a spare pistol from my boot, shoving it roughly under his jaw. His eyes lose their glint of laughter as he realizes I might actually end his little game once and for all.

"You death worshiping piece of shit," I growl. "You've killed God knows how many people. You threaten the lives of everyone within a hundred miles of you, and tonight, you dared to threaten my brother. MY BROTHER! I should end your little crap fest right now. Putting a bullet in your brain would bring me nothing but joy."

Smirking at him, I bring him closer to my face. "And to top it all off, you made a crucial mistake tonight, Joker."

He raises an eyebrow at me. My grip loosens enough to hear him speak. "Oh yeah?" he gasps.

"Yeah! You forgot that I'm the original bat out of Hell, jackass!"

I cuff him in the head with the butt of my pistol and throw him viciously into a pile of crates. The wood splinters under him. Muffled groans emit from his bruised throat as he falls to the concrete floor. Just to satisfy myself, I raise the pistol and shoot him once in the shoulder –making him cry out. It's a totally nonlethal shot, but one that makes me just a bit more satisfied. "Hope you manage to bleed out on the way to Arkham, bitch."

Silence fills the warehouse, save for the sound of Batman's boots as he walks up behind me. I wait for him to yank me around and yell at me about waiting for backup, but he doesn't. Instead, he passes me and wrenches the Joker from the ground. His fist immediately meets Joker's jaw.

"He might not make it to Arkham this time," Nightwing mutters. I turn to see the others standing around me now, all four of us watching as Batman smacks Joker around before placing him in cuffs and throwing him back onto the crate wreckage. Black cape billowing, he stalks towards us.

"Hood, I need you to tell me how badly you're hurt," he says. His gloved hand reaches towards me, but I catch his wrist. The adrenaline that's begun to wear off makes me all too aware of the pain I'm in, and whirling thoughts cloud my mind –replaying what just happened over and over again in my head. Suddenly, my vision starts to blur and I feel myself sway. As I slip into blackness I feel a pair of armored arms catch me.

***B***

As I come back to consciousness, a feeling of vertigo sweeps over me and I roll onto my side with a groan. Pain is shooting through my battered body and I feel the mass beneath my head shift. Realization dawns as I notice the black Kevlar clad legs beneath my cheek.

"Hold on Jaybird, we're almost home."

Dick's voice is a small reassurance as I slowly recognize that we're in the back of the Batmobile. Damian sits in the front seat, but stays turned around to look at me, while Tim has my legs draped over him. Damian's face lacks its usual distain –seeming instead to have gained an air of concern. A hand clenches the edge of my jacket. I glance down to see Tim staring at me, old tears dried in tracks down his cheeks and fresh ones threatening to fall.

"Thank you," he murmurs. I give a simple nod, too tired to speak.

As I try to relax, the urge to cough suddenly hits me. I can't hold it back and pain surges like lightning through my chest. I can feel bones grind as I try to control my breathing.

"Argh! Shit!" I rasp. My hands clench as I wrap my arms around myself. Dick's hand brushes my hair out of my face.

"Shhh, Jay. We're almost there. We'll get you some of those nice painkillers Alfred keeps and then you can get some sleep."

I can't reply as I try to breathe through the pain. My body is fighting me as I attempt to keep a grasp on consciousness and my vision has started to waver. Lungs refusing to breathe clearly, muscles refusing to relax, and eyes refusing to stay open. Quickly losing my grasp on cognizance, I roll my head so that I can gaze up at Dick's face. His mask is torn –most likely from the events in the warehouse– and his usually happy face is filled with concern.

Managing to move past the pain for a moment, I smirk up at him. "Smile, Goldie. You're going to depress the children looking like that."

He smiles, a little crinkle appearing between his eyes proving that it's genuine. Before he can reply, I start to cough again. This time the pain drags me back under.

***B***

This time when I wake, it's to the steady chirping of a heart monitor and gentle whir of the cave's air-conditioning unit. My movements are sluggish as I turn my head to glance at the clock. 8:24 glares back at me in a blocky red font. There's nothing overly significant about it, but I realize that I've been out for at least nine hours –give or take a few minutes.

In an attempt to remedy the stiffness of my back, I try to sit up from the uncomfortable hospital bed. Instantly, I realize I've made a mistake and gasp loudly. Despite the obvious presence of painkillers in my bloodstream, the pain of my movement nearly makes me sick. I collapse back, breathing unevenly through the pain and vertigo. A hand comes to rest on my head. Brushing the sweat and hair from my face, a figure leans over me.

 _Bruce._

"Jason," he says quietly, "you need to stay still. You've got multiple broken ribs, a fractured clavicle, and severe bruising all over your body. Leslie also thinks you may have gotten a minor concussion, but she said you'll be okay." Almost imperceptibly, I nod.

"Tim?" I ask breathily.

"He's fine. Roughed up a bit, but nothing a little rest and some of Alfred's cooking won't fix." I nod again, glad that the little genius is okay. Bruce moves to sit down in the chair beside my bed, but I seize his wrist.

"I don't want to stay here." My voice is still quiet, but by the look on his face I may as well have screamed. His eyes dull a bit and the slight smile disappears.

"You can't leave yet Jason. Stay long enough to build up your strength and we'll talk."

Shaking my head, I tug on his wrist again. "No, I don't want to stay _here_." I poke the bed. I don't have the strength to explain that all I want is my own bed –a bed I had only started using again four months ago, but still a bed that was _mine_.

After coming to a bit of an understanding with everyone, I had begun spending a few nights every so often at the manor with the rest of them. That bed is the most comfortable thing I've ever slept on, and I'd rather be miserable there than down here on this hospital bed.

Bruce's face relaxes in understanding and he nods. I release his wrist and he walks to the intercom, calling down Alfred and Dick. The two men arrive within minutes and Bruce explains my request. Dick walks over to me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Jaybird, finally decided to rejoin the waking world I see. I was starting to think you were going to sleep the day away," he jokes. I smirk sleepily at him, shaking my head. "So you want to go upstairs?" he asks.

"Yeah," I rasp. "I want to be home." He smiles broadly at me. If I felt up to it, I'd probably smack the goofy grin right of his mug; however, I'm already slipping back under as drugs continue to drip from the I.V. in my arm. "Help me up," I mumble, reaching out to him.

Dick hesitates for a moment and I nod, bracing myself for the onslaught of pain that would accompany the move to my room. He places an arm behind me and grabs my I.V.-free arm to haul me up.

"On three," he says. "One…Two…Three."

"Argh!" I force my body to listen as I sit up with sore muscles. Dick's arm supports me as I sag against his chest.

"You going to be okay?" he asks quietly. I nod into him, moving to swing my legs off the bed.

Before he can say anything, I stand. Hands grasp my arms as I sway ever so slightly, but I gently shrug them off. "No," I mumble to Dick and Bruce, who flank me on each side now. "I'm okay."

They nod and Alfred grabs the I.V. Dick keeps a hand on my shoulder, while Bruce leads the way. I smirk a bit to myself at his strategy. He's anticipating having to catch me and prevent the painful faceplant that would accompany a fall on the steel steps that lead from the main area of the cave to the elevator. There are only a few steps –four or five I think– but they'll be a struggle to get up in my battered state.

When I reach them, I glance at the steps. Bridging a height difference of only around two feet, the steps look like they're a mile high. I bite my lip and grab Dick's offered arm as I climb them. The movement makes my ribs seems like they are grating together, and my bruised body screams in protest. Thankfully, it's quickly over.

"Bruce," I mutter, "one request. Next time you renovate, put an elevator by the med bay instead of across the room from everything." He smiles a bit and rolls his eyes at me.

"Come on, dork," Dick smirks.

Within moments we've taken the elevator up to the library and enter the main level of the manor. Bruce and Dick walk beside me again and Alfred follows closely behind, still holding my I.V. When we reach the hall, I groan.

"Dammit."

"Jaybird?" Dick put his hand back on my arm. "You okay?"

I shake my head. "I forgot about those." He shifts his gaze to see what I'm pointing at and frowns.

"Oh –uh– I did too actually."

"Craptastic."

A large flight of stairs looms before us –the only path to the bedrooms. Bruce steps in front of me, meeting my eyes.

I sigh, realizing that I'm going to have to let them support me up the staircase. With a nod, I start to raise my arm. Bruce slips it over his shoulders and stands straight, holding me steady. A whirlwind of pain assaults my side as muscles pull and ribs scream in protest, and I feel my legs shake. Dick frowns at me, but grips my bicep to help support me.

When I've steadied myself and managed to breathe through the discomfort, they help me ascend the steps. Halfway up, I'm dizzy with pain and rest heavily on Bruce. I lean my head towards him, resting my cheek against the point where my arm meets his shoulder.

"You're almost there," he says quietly, his breath tickling my face. Dick places a hand on my neck reassuringly and I nod, straightening a bit and taking a shaky breath. By the time we reach the top, a sense of vertigo is starting to wash over me once again.

"Bruce," I groan as he puts my arm down, "I think I'm going to be sick." Spots dance in my vision and I notice a trashcan is suddenly in front of me.

"Jason?" Tim's voice echoes down the hall, followed by two sets of rushing feet. He stand before me –accompanied by Damian.

"Hey little man," I mutter, fighting my gag reflex as my stomach clenches.

"Vertigo?" he asks. I nod slightly. "Hold on," he says. Damian continues to stand there quietly as Tim runs back to his room for a moment. I don't notice his return, but suddenly a bottle of something is stuck under my nose. I jerk away from the offending smell, crying out as agony rips through my body at the abrupt movement.

"Sorry!" he cries. "But are you still dizzy?" I shake my head, standing a bit straighter.

"Thanks Tim," I say. He nods, stepping away. "I'm just ready to go back to being unconscious now," I complain. "Being awake is just a pain in the ass."

They ignore my comment as we finally move to my room. I almost cry with joy at the sight of my bed. Red sheets and my plain black comforter –the softest money could buy, thanks to Bruce– were pulled back and waiting for me. They smell freshly washed and I notice the heating pad waiting for me.

 _Thank God for Alfred._

***B***

Sunlight assaults my eyes as it peeks in through my grey curtains. I groan, rolling to the other side of the bed. I quickly regret that decision, as the sheets are icy cold. Grumbling, I scoot back to the spot that I'd previously rolled away from.

"Freaking sunrise at six freaking AM. Dammit, mother nature, you need to rethink your priorities."

A chuckle sounds from my doorway and I groan loudly. If Dick knows I'm awake, there's no way I'll get to stay in bed past seven.

"Come on Jaybird, you're fine. Rise and shine! The flowers are blooming, the birds are singing," he teases. I stay buried under my blankets –only reaching my hand out in order to flip him off.

"This bird is staying quiet until I freaking feel like getting up. GO. AWAY."

He sighs, but I know he hasn't given up. Knowing that I'll never go back to sleep now anyway, I push aside my blankets. Before I can even sit up, the sound of running feet greets my ears –and in the moments that follow, all hell breaks loose. I feel the impact of a body on my back and immediately roar at the pain that shoots up my sides. Although it's been a month and a half since I broke them, my ribs still protest harsh hits –especially from boney assed little assassins.

"Damian!" Dick pulls the little vermin off of me as I flip over and launch myself out of the warm bed. "Shit! Shit! Shit!"

Dick is backing out of my room hurriedly, dropping a struggling Damian as he goes. Damian rolls to his feet and run for the stairs –probably hoping to go hide behind Alfred in the kitchen. His assumption that I'm actually going to let him escape is laughable.

Running for the banister, I launch myself over it. I bend my knees to absorb the impact, and the slight discomfort isn't wasted as I touch down on the landing right behind the brat. Within seconds I'm holding him up by the back of his black turtleneck sweater.

"Dammit, Todd! Release me!" He sneers at me and I glare back darkly.

"Look you little shit, I don't go around stealing your numerous pets and countless little knives, now do I?"

Damian shakes his head a bit, not quite sure of where I'm taking this.

"Okay, well let's just agree that I value my sleep and my guns as much as you value your pets and knives –or any sharp objects in general. Keep working as an early morning alarm clock and you'll find that Wu Fong's has a new supply of kitchen knives and fresh meow meow lo mein, courtesy of one Damian Wayne's Pet Supply."

Intense blue eyes gaze back at me for a moment, highlighted by a flash of rebellion. Finally, he relents. "Very well, I shall leave you be and allow Grayson to annoy you in the mornings."

"Close enough," I mutter. When I drop him, he immediately turns and rushes to the kitchen. "And I stick around why?" I grumble to myself.

"Eh, you know you love us." Dick is grinning as he joins me on the stairs.

"Keep telling yourself that Dickiebird."

"You know, you could try to be a little nicer to him, and avoid threatening the pets. One of the cats is named Alfred, and he's actually quite nice."

I roll my eyes, preparing to retort. Before I can even attempt to be a smartass, however, the sound of running feet once again catches my attention. Dick and I look up to see Tim at the top of the stairs and have to hold back our laughter. Tim stands there, seething, with a pink button-up shirt and pink boxers on.

"Damian!" he thunders. A laugh escapes me at the sound. Tim –who might weigh 130 pounds soaking wet– is NOT a loud person. The sound of his anger is usually expressed as a frustrated sigh, but the occasional prank has been known to bring out a lion in the kid.

 _Okay, so he's more of a lion cub, but obviously he's upset._

"Jason, where's that little demon gone? I swear, you tell him that you've got something to do and he's going to find a way to wreck it!" Tim is rushing down the steps towards me as he speaks, not paying much attention to his feet. As he trips I groan, knowing that he's about to plow right into me.

My arms wrap around him as we start to fall and I grunt as my back meets the hard staircase. I take the brunt of the fall as we continue to roll, finally landing roughly on the hardwood at the bottom of the steps. Dick is laughing from where he stopped on the steps, Tim is apologizing, and I can hear three sets of feet rushing towards us. Just as Bruce, Alfred, and Damian appear, I shove Tim off of my chest. I glare harshly up at Dick, who is now biting his lip to contain his amusement.

"THIS IS WHY I SLEEP TILL NOON YOU ASSHOLE!"


End file.
